Sawdust, sawdust everywhere.
At the moment, I resemble something that's lived in a tree for the past 10 years, who has finally come out of the forest. My feet are covered in ant-bites, as I think, in one of my previous lives, I was an ant-politician or something. They all hate me.

Today was Renovating Day, and I got stuck into renovating my desk. Just one of those "things that I've been meaning to do for the past 8 years, but never got around to doing" type things. I bought the desk when I was 15... a good while ago, in any case.
Today I discovered there was a really good reason why I hadn't done it before. Its hard work, noisy work, that is boring as watching lawn bowls.
---WHIRRRRZZZZZ----
I got tired of looking over the back fence at the neighbours, valiantly trying to get on with everyday activities with that godforsaken droning coming from the power tool in my grasp. Nextdoor's dog barked itself hoarse, and has been taken to the vet for emergency thoracic surgery, and our house has an attractive war-zone style dust covering.

I almost sanded my hand into non-existence every time the bloody sandpaper broke, and I'm sure that ASIO has been alerted to the hostile and violent language that resulted.

Whatever the white paint-like substance is on this damn desk is harder to remove than the enamel on a fridge. Its solid, not paintlike. I believe that it was built to survive a chemical and nuclear attack, as the stuff is indestructible. The CIA constructed this desk to protect themselves from the Russians...

I'm sure I could get out a hammer, and have better success chipping at the stuff with a chisel...

However... I'm now determined to win. I've got the "Tim the Toolman" thing happening. I just need more power.... and a little bit more sandpaper... and, perhaps a bit of anti-Ant spray... those snarky bastards really know how to hold a grudge.